


Duality

by Cloudnine101



Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship, Heroism, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And he'd sit there, on his battered sofa, pack of peas pressed against his forehead, and grin like a loon; dreaming of a life he could never have.</p><p>Because as long as Superman lived, Clark Kent could never be normal; and as long as Clark Kent stuck around, Superman could never be free.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duality

In life, people put up fronts: shields, to protect themselves from the world. Clark was no exception; he had his costume (because who doesn't love lycra?), and it hid him, as well as it could. It was a little on the revealing side; but heck, Superman could pull it off. Naturally, Clark Kent wouldn't be seen dead in it - and that was just the way it should be. They were hardly the same person, after all. At the end of the day, Superman was a hero - the good guy, the saviour of the planet, the rescuer of countless kittens from countless trees. Clark was the bumbling journalist, who spent his free time racing round the country (for work, of course: he was more the stay-at-home type, or so he preferred to believe), and trying not to get socially traumatised.

Nine times out of ten, it didn't work.

But sometimes - in moments of nostalgia, of heartache, of broken dreams - when he sat alone in his apartment, super-suit discarded on the floor, glasses chipped and bent, smothered by scars and memories, he wished for something...different. He closed his eyes, and pictured a person: a nameless, faceless figure, who (by some miracle/fluke of nature) knew the truth: the whole truth. The truth about superman, about flight, about trying to make coffee just right - because damn, it was a hard job. And he'd sit there, on his battered sofa, pack of peas pressed against his forehead, and grin like a loon; dreaming of a life he could never have.

Because as long as Superman lived, Clark Kent could never be normal; and as long as Clark Kent stuck around, Superman could never be free. Sometimes, he considered seeking counselling - but if he did, who would believe him? Who would want to listen? He'd be in Arkham Asylum before he could blink. But sometimes, he liked to put a little distance between his two halves; and when that happened, he'd pack up his bags, and hit the road.

At 21:32, Clark arrived in Gotham City, Superman get-up in tow - too much distance was dangerous, he'd found. Besides, what would he do about villains, if Superman was at the supermarket? Five minutes after his arrival, a man slammed into his windshield, splintering the fragile glass. Kal-El took over: the brakes were down before he could blink. No time for the cape - he leaped from the driver's seat, throwing his glasses onto the floor. It was dark; so dark, he could barely see a foot in front of his face.

It was hardly a surprise when Kent tripped over the figure, lying, sprawled, on the concrete. Really, it wad inevitable. Groaning, he rolled onto his back - the body made a slight sound, shuffling upwards. There was a flash of blue light, and a whine - the police, shit - but the cruiser rolled on by, oblivious. It did, however, shed a little light on the scene. Clark's jaw hit the grey slabs. Directly in front of him, on his forearms, legs stretched out, was Bruce Wayne. And he was wearing cevlar. Very tight-fitting cevlar - but that was hardly the point.

The point was...well...that it was Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, (former?) womanizer, recluse; on the cover of every magazine, every paper. Wearing a Batman costume. And blinking at him. And holding a rather large knife, speckled with blood. After that, it took Kent about ten seconds to come to a conclusion.

"Wayne," he breathed as the other man stared, eyes unfocused - and then the eyes snapped into life, and suddenly, in a flash, they were burning. The man - Wayne, Bruce Wayne - opened his mouth; but before he could speak, there was a flash - and in the blink of an eye, someone else was standing over them. Except, now, there was no 'them'. There was only Clark, gazing upwards from his knees. No Wayne. No Batman.

"Are you alright, son?" the officer said, oddly concerned. Clark began to laugh, taking great gulps of air. It had been that kind of night.

"Just fine, officer; just fine."

And, for a moment, it was true. That night, Kent went back to his hotel, and proceeded - calmly, very calmly - to check out, speed home, and call Lois. They sat together, her head resting on his shoulder; and he closed his eyes, and tried to forget what he'd just discovered. He made her spaghetti for dinner, and they ate on the couch, and they smiled at each other - and, for the first time in a long time, Clark was happy.

Some secrets just weren't worth sharing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, folks! I hope you enjoyed this, and that it wasn't too depressing. Please don't forget to review!


End file.
